Of Gobs and Borks

H02: Balefire Silkworks Ranch and Rescue

In the midst of the Felwood, a spiderfarm lives. In the midst of the spiderfarm, spiders live. Among the gentle spiders, other malnourished, arcane beasts twisted by the Felwood live. Many are missing a leg or an eye, and are tended to by the little witch who passes by. Occasionally she may be seen walking past the crooked lane, through the fields. She bears a tiny, crooked cane and wears her hair in a long, crooked braid.

Around this spiderfarm, is a little, crooked fence. Along this little, crooked fence is a little, crooked stile. Along the crooked stile are little, crooked spiderwebs. Dew mists them. They create a gentle, rainbow shimmer. It is all very, very peaceful.

Along the front lawn is a giant, crooked sign. It reads: "NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR INJURY, MAIMING, OR ACCIDENTAL DEATH WHILE ON PROPERTY."

A chilly wind blows from the west, driving dark clouds before it and blotting out the stars in patches overhead. The air is clear and elsewhere they glitter brightly in the dark sapphire sky. Munch carefully approaches the crooked little farm, well aware most places have a policy of 'You Touch It, You Bought It'... okay, so technically it's 'You Break It, You Bought It' but when you're a barbarian golem, touching and breaking are closely related. The metal man is also quite careful because of the doberman sized spider cradled in his arms. The poor thing has been injured. Very injured. Okay, it's pretty much been cut in half and some of the organs have fallen out, but Munch is still trying to be careful with it and not cause anymore damage. He's new to the whole 'delicate' thing.

In this cold and chilly evening, with a cold wind stalking the land, a fur and leather bound Goblin stalks towards the Farm. Well. Struggles is a more apt word. For in her hand is a leash, and at the other end of that leash is a Worg. A large wolf. The glint of intelligence in his eyes, and the fact that he seems to enjoy making Murder struggle to lead him along, says much about their relationship. Troubled is putting it lightly.

"Come oooonnn, Wilfred. It's seriously just up ahead!"

Few things get Alba's attention like the smell of leaking ichor. In the Balefire, it's practically a survival strategy, because it means that something ferocious enough to hunt and eat giant spiders is actively stalking and claiming victims. So the moment Munch crosses the boundary of the ranch, Alba is floating nearby and above as if conjured into being. "What has happened to this creature."

Murder's approach, though perhaps ominous if only for the goblin's name, is briefly marked, but the Witch's attention is largely fixed on the dying spider.

Dead spider. Quite dead. Maybe an hour or so. Likely from the single massive gash that almost split it in two. Would take a really big and powerful weapon to make a gash like that. Something along the lines of the really big axe Munch carries on his back. The one currently splattered with fresh ichor. Not exactly a lot of detective work to figure out the basics of what happened.

Blinking with a soft click, Munch turns to the floating witch. "Suicide. I think, maybe? They keep throwing themselves at me. Maybe you can help figure out why."

"Bad boy! Bad!", Murder squeaks, being hoisted along by the worg, its jaw firmly around a piece of her clothing, carrying her along, her feet inches from the ground. While the Goblin looks extremely annoyed, the Worg is very pleased with himself. "You wait til I get you home later. So much training!", she says with a huff. Her eyes track upwards, peering at the floating witch and the large golem. Smiling brightly, she waves. "Hi!"

The answer brings Alba up short, and she visibly deflates in the air, heaving a long, put-upon sigh. "...It is a spider," she says, reaching up behind her mask to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Most things that are people-shaped and people-sized are food. You are, mostly, both of these things." Shaking her head, she drifts closer to the goblin, dangling from the Warg's teeth.

"...This is unexpected."

Munch buzzes softly. "Oh yeah, I get that. Why I didn't worry about it the first time this sort of thing started happening. I figured I just looked delicious or something. The horse sized ones do the same thing, I figured for the same reason. The little normal sized ones I didn't question either. But then they stopped for a while. Figured they're learned I am neither delicious nor nutricious, or maybe just they don't stand a chance. but then it started up again about a week ago. I've back tracked a couple, left behind perfectly good webs to make a beeline for miles straight towards me, no stalking, no ambush, just throw themselves straight at me. I have a lot of things try to kill me, but that's just weird." Munch also nods politely to Murder and Wilfred. He'd wave, but his hands are still full.

"BORK!", says Wilfred, the sound and meaning muffled by the Goblin's current predicament. He sneezes then and shakes his head, much to Murder's disgust and discomfort. "EW. Worg snot and slobber anSTOPSHAKINGME!" She remembers her currently location, and Alba's voice has her looking the witch's way again. "Er. Yes. Uhm. Your farm, and more specifically you, possess a certain reputation for uh rehabilitating large creatures like Wilfred here." The Gobbo gestures with her thumb to the Worg over shoulder. "What price must I pay to have him trained. And uh, I guess I could use some training too, in the handling of him. I have forgotten much since I last rode a worg into battle."

Murder looks to Munch. "Have you stopped to consider that you're in the Felwood, and that this place does strange things to creatures? So it shouldn't be so surprising that things of the wood come for you? And others who have the misfortune of treading in the wrong places?"

"The Felwood's taint is not reason enough for such behavior," Alba murmurs, turning back to peer at Munch. With the warg ostensibly happy and playful, the mystery grabs the Witch's attention more strongly for the moment. "Saaah. Very well. Leave it here, and I shall see what I may learn before there is naught left to learn from."

That said, she turns back to Murder, tilting her head. "...It would seem your friend labors under the assumption that you are puppy, not partner. Young enough it must be to wish to play more than work."

Munch nods again, and peers a moment before carefully setting down the pieces on a clear area. "I don't exactly mind, even the big ones don't take much to berak, but it is plain weird. And some of the druids guys started talking about the eco-balance thing. Like if all the spiders get killed, then the giant wasps and bettles start getting out of control, and then something about the fungus, and they sort lost me but it sounded pretty bad."

"Murder shrugs to Alba's assertion of puppy not partner. "He is pretty young. But also pretty stubborn. He does this because he knows it annoys me. I'm gonOOF!" The Worg unceremoniously drops the Goblin to the ground, with her landing on her behind. "Ow! Baaad!" The Worg ignores her, something on the farm, somewhere, having garnered his attention. "I am hoping that he is not past redeeming." She looks to Alba hopefully. Her gaze than falls back to Munch. She STARES. "Giant wasps?" A slow blink. "W.where?"

"In the wild," Alba explains, "the great spiders require a good deal of food to survive. Vermin of similar size, often best. Thus, no great spiders, nothing to eat the great wasps, and so."

As the Warg gets distracted, the Witch lowers herself to the ground, placing herself directly in front of the animal. Her hair spreads out, razored hand rising to point at the Warg's nose, and in the sharpest, most threatening tone she can manage -- which considering the source is... rather -- She looses a single word in Tones Of Authority. "YOU!"

Munch watches the intimidating act with the curiousity of a fellow professional. His own leathery dreadlocks wiggle a bit on their own, but just don't quite manage the same level of creepy horror.

The Worg peers at Alba as she lowers to the ground before him, his eyes tracking her hands, and then the sharp points that rise to his nose. He is just beginning to sniff carefully at the offered hand when she lets loose with her au-thor-i-TAH. A slow blink, and the Worg's mouth closes. Very slowly, he sits down upon his behind, and regards the witch with a curious expression, the fur on his brow wrinkling. Murder hmms, and reaches under the furs she wears, to pull out a small notebook. Complete with a small piece of sharpened charcoal. She opens the worn notebook, turns to a page near the middle, and begins to write, slowly and painstakingly.

"My territory, this is," Alba explains, as she lowers her razors, dropping to a crouch and extending her bare hand to be sniffed. "Respect must be given. But not threat, am I. Cease writing a moment, and stand next to him."

Munch takes a step and realizes she's not talking to him. He returns to just observing.

Murder erks and quickly hides away the charcoal and notebook. She will stand next to Wilfred as asked, while the Worg himself sniffs delicately at the Witch's hand. He then regards her once more with an expression that speaks pretty clearly, "Yes. I sit. What do you want?"

"If work you would wish for him to do," Alba says, "teach him that to work is good, and to ignore work is bad. He must see you as equal, not younger-littermate. But much larger than you he is, so shouts and violence shall end poorly. It is a puzzle, this, and it is for you to work out."

As she speaks, Alba removes her glove, carefully setting it aside. "And more than all... There can be no guessing. A behavior *always* is bad, or *always* good. If this is not so, then confused he shall become, and perhaps frightened of unpredictable punishment. Too small are you, Murder, to survive a frightened Warg."

Munch listens carefully. The metal man is not small, but might learn something from the other side of the equation. Or... in-equation? Formula? Whatever.

Murder looks sidelong at Wilfred as Alba speaks, and then back to the Witch. She nods slowly to the woman, though her expression darkens when she is told that a frightened Worg could end her. Perhaps surprising, she holds her tongue, despite looking to correct Alba. "I understand. I have been working to show that good things are always good, and bad things are always bad. I think I am doing well in that respect. But yes, he does not see me as an equal." The Worg looks from Alba to Murder, Wilfred rumbling in his throat.

"So, and so," Alba says. "And this thing must be remedied. But since you are no threat and cannot assert authority..." With frightening speed, Alba's hand darts out to close around the back of Murder's neck, as her hair strikes viper-quick to do the same with the Warg's scruff. Both heads, pushed toward the ground. "In three breaths, lie flat and roll upon your back," she murmurs. "I will release you when you are down."

Munch blinks, but keeps quiet... having some idea where this is going.

While the Worg is surprised, he acquiesces in short order, laying down upon his belly and rolling onto his back. The Goblin? Hoo boy, there is instant resistance and struggle. For a few beats of time, at least. Then she, too, acquiesces, and lays flat, and rolls upon her back. Her expression is not one of happy Gobbo.

And the moment both are on their backs, Alba lets go. "And now I have established myself as greater in stature, to the both of you. This means little and less beyond this day, Murder, except in his mind. Now you are equals in respect upon my territory, and shall share in good and ill when here."

Rising, she steps back far enough that she's not looming over either, and moves to the spider pieces. "Be not angry, warrior," she says as her hair begins to wrap around the corpses and slithery bits. "A necessary demonstration, for him. And now, for you both, lunch." She looks up to the golem, head tilting. "Invite you to join I would... but your tale is a concerning one, and I mislike the thought of what such a.... curse.... may do to a spider that is thinking, speaking, and commands magics much like my own."

Munch nods. "I doubt your lunch and my lunch are compatable anyway." He eyes the pieces a moment. Good chance in another situation, those would have been his lunch.

The Goblin's expression slowly changes as the meaning of Alba's demonstration sinks in. On the one hand, she dislikes greatly that she has essentially been 'dominated' in the way that people do with dogs, and that is evident in her expression. But the fact that the playing field has been levelled, well, she finds it hard to be mad. Mostly. Then Alba speaks of lunch and Murder is up in an instant. "Oh? What are we having?", she wonders. Wilfred gets up as well, not entirely sure what is happening but there's some eagerness and excitement in the air and it's catchy for a canine. The Gobbo looks to Munch. "Er, what do you eat, anyways?" Being a golem and all, anyways.

"Whatever he wishes," Alba says, the wry smirk audible behind her mask. "For lunch... stew for you, clean rabbit and another lesson for your partner."

As spider guts slip and slide through her hair, always caught before they can find the ground again, Alba looks to Munch. "What I learn, I shall share next we meet. Not long am I, I think, for another journey into town."

Munch buzzes softly. "Anything and everything that happens to catch my attention. Or used to. I try not to eat anythign still able to object, these days." He nods to Abla, and turns to depart. "The Junkyard usually knows where to find me, if I'm not there in person."

The Goblin stares at Munch for a few long moments, her jaw partially open. She closes it then and nods. "I. See. Er, well, take care then!" She offers a wave to the golem, before turning to look to Alba. "Stew sounds delicious. Anything you need help with? I don't want to be a bother. Oh? What sort of lesson?"

"Then the Junkyard I shall seek," Alba says gravely as Munch turns to leave. As Murder offers her help, the Witch looses a snort. "Many things I would like help with, but of the most pressing... better to do with my own hands. Unless, of course, the thought you relish of extracting the brain and lungs of this creature without causing more damage." Munch gives one more waves, and heads off.

Murder blinks at the .. remains and shakes her head, turning perhaps a little greener than normal. "Er. I meant with like, setting the table? Washing dishes? Helping out? I am not a er... surgeon."

"Nor I," Alba snorts, "but it is not a chore I shall ask of you. Come," she says, drifting toward the barn. "It shall not be a working lunch, but I shall not wish to wait overlong. There will be no need for such chores, as the lesson for your partner is of much greater import."

The Goblin follows along, with Wilfred trailing a step or two behind her. "I do not mind it though. I like being useful. Due to my... stature and nature, I get overlooked often. So. I help when and where I can." Her ears perk up. "I am interested to see this lesson."

"Sah?" Alba says, as though the statement was spoken, perhaps if not in an unknown language, then certainly an unfamiliar dialect. Shaking her head, she guides Murder into the barn... Which looks as though it had been 'decorated' by a half-mad alchemist with no concept of organization, and only a little idea of 'livable space.' A pair of the stalls that once lined one side have been converted to open sleeping quarters, and a mess of alchemy equipment stands opposite a bubbling iron cauldron... which is what seems to be holding the food on offer. Dumping the corpse into one of the few empty stalls, Alba gives her hair a few hard flicks to one side -- and how unfair, her hair is *actually clean* after that lazy display -- and tips her head up, to the mass of webbing that all but entirely obscures the upper third of the barn. "Guests have arrived, Friend Spider, not food!" Ignoring the disgusted huff from above, she threads past piles of components and ingredients, and picks up a trio of roughly-carved wooden bowls. "The lesson is a simple one," she says, as her hair snakes around a ladle and begins to fill two of the bowls. "Neither of you eat until the other begins."

Murder blinks at the huff from above. "Friend. Spider?", she says quietly, supressing a shudder. She eyes the different stalls and the things they contain. The promise of food has her staring at the bowls as they are filled, and her stomach makes a noticeable growl. "But. If neither of us can eat until the other begins... we'll be staring here til the end of time." Wilfred wurfs and stares at the bowls, licking his chops.

"Tell you I will, when to begin," Alba replies. Her eyes are on Wilfred as she approaches with two human-sized bowls of stew -- perhaps too little for the Warg, and too much for Murder, but entertaining company has never been part of Alba's skillset.

Wilfred's bowl is set down in front of him, first. And when his head inevitably dips down to start gorging, she makes a sharp sound, poking the Warg's nose. A noise that will be repeated, the poke sharper, should he try to repeat the mistake. Holding his eyes as much as she can, she slowly offers Murder her own bowl, with a dented pewter spoon to eat with.

Wilfred does try, several times, to get to the bowl. Of the things he has experienced, food in a bowl on the ground means it is his, inevitably. He makes a few complaint sounds and ends up sitting down, looking to Alba, and huffing at her. He is so starving, barely fed, fading away fast... Murder, on the other hand, looked ready to simply drink everything right from the bowl. And looks at the spoon with an.. oh, right, expression. She waits, almost as impatiently as the Worg, for Alba's direction.

And after taking a moment to look them both in the eye, and let them know that this is her call, Alba steps back. "Eat," she says, fully expecting both to start inhaling before she can finish reaching for her ladle again.

... And it will be a tie, practically, as the two eat as if the bowls were to be taken away at any moment. The Worg has the adavantage, but the Gobbo makes it a close game. Wilfred licks the bowl three times over, to be sure he got everything, and then gives Alba the ... Moooore? look. Murder simply lets out a lengthy belch that seems to surprise her. "Scuse me.", she says.

At the look, Alba simply starts to eat her own stew, looking to Murder. "Do you wish another?"

Murder licks her lips, but shakes her head. "Give him another, though, please?" She holds her hand up for the ladel. "I don't mind doing it." Alba nods, her hair depositing the ladle into Murder's open hand. "It is better that you do. Remember this; when you eat, he eats. Whether it is the same food or different, nothing passes your lips until there is food for him as well. Partners."

The Goblin nods softly, and ladels out enough to fill the Worg's bowl again. He looks to her and licks his lips, and she nods. "Go ahead. I'm done for now." He doesn't need to be told twice. "So no matter what, we have to eat together. I can do that."

"As you can, do all things together," Alba says. "How to ride is a thing you know better than I; it will be needful to teach him what is to be done, and how to respond."

Murder grins brightly then, showing off too many teeth. "That IS something I do know quite well." Her expression grows serious. "And I owe you much, for the lessons you have given."

"This place is a home for creatures who would envy your Wilfred for his lack of intelligence. Certain I am that he is a good example of his like, but the creatures here, one and all, think and act more as you or I do. They would wish for him to remain happy and well partnered," Alba says, inclining her head. "For them, I begrudge not this teaching. Nothing is owed."

The Goblin is quiet for many long moments, a few emotions warring for dominance on her face. She slowly shakes her head. "I would not feel poorly for being in your debt. One should not give up a favour so easily." Murder lets out a low breath. "I will render a service if called upon. If you do not do so, it is on you."

"This is acceptable," Alba says, inclining her head in respect. "I shall remember this. No other lessons can I think of, this day. Another, perhaps... who can say?"

"May we visit again soon, then? Perhaps more lessons will come to mind later?" Murder nods to the Witch. "For what you have shared, I thank you." Wilfred rumbles and growls lightly, and moves to lean against Alba.

Wilfred's approach is rewarded with a knuckling of the Warg's head, right between his ears. "My ranch is open to you both," she says, ruffling further for a moment. "My water always offered." Watch System: Ga'Elian has connected.

Murder grins. "Once more, my thanks.", she says, her voice taking on a squeaky quality. "I'll bring you a brace of rabbits, so that our next dinner may be provided for beforehand." Wilfred is a sucker for attention, enjoying the knuckling in the 'good spot'.